


Death Fascinates Me

by TwilightDeviant



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Immortals talking about death, M/M, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, While not knowing the other is immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightDeviant/pseuds/TwilightDeviant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London trembled with panic and a surging righteousness against its immoral victims. Adam cared only for the manner of their deaths, a grotesque fascination for a grotesque method. Compelled by a fulfillment for more information, he sought out the doctor who examined those butchered victims of dear Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Fascinates Me

**Author's Note:**

> So Henry and Adam were both in London at the time of the Jack the Ripper killings. Such a shame they didn't meet. So here, have a fic where they met. I'm self-indulgent like that.
> 
> Pre-slash again. I swear in the next one I’m writing they do actually get together. Sorry.
> 
> Rated T because, obviously, they will be discussing Jack the Ripper's victims. Shouldn't be anything worse than what was said in the episode though.

It was a small clinic. The office was shoved into the corner of a business building, large enough for only the one doctor and his limited practice. 

There was no doubt he was of that guild of competent men with bleeding hearts, giving his services to those in need, even when they could not pay. As a result, the doctor probably had trouble with his own bills. That was good. Adam liked desperate men. They always sang for a handout.

He waited until closing, catching the occasional glimpse of the doctor through his one window. Then the light went out and the door onto the street opened.

Adam watched him descend the steep brick stairs, tired but able. He was a handsome man up close, dapper and well groomed but with a thick mustache that conformed more to society's trends than what actually suited him.

“Doctor Morgan?” Adam called, stepping from the shadows he had nested in. “Doctor Henry Morgan?”

“Yes?” He was apprehensive, as most were when alone at night. But thieves never addressed a man by name, and that realization calmed him as Adam came closer.

“I was wondering if you might help me.”

Henry pulled his watch from his pocket. First he was shocked by the hour and how it had gotten to be so late without his notice, then he shook his head regrettably. “I’m afraid I’ve just closed up for the night,” he said, “unless of course there’s an emergency.”

“No, no,” Adam said, assuaging his doctoral concern. “I only wanted a word.”

“All right,” he said, “and what would that word be?”

“I believe you examined the body of one of the women who was killed,” Adam said. Henry’s face fell to see his intent. “I know you’ve done your best to keep your name out of the papers, but I have a... a real knack for finding people.”

“I’d rather not discuss the matter, if you don’t mind,” Henry said. “Good night, sir.” He held his leather case tighter and began to walk away. 

Adam pursued. He followed in step with the doctor. “The police are unwilling to divulge any more than what they already have publicly,” Adam said. “But you, Doctor Morgan, aren’t bound by their vows of silence.”

“Only ethical ones,” Henry stated, walking a little quicker, almost a sprint.

“I’ll pay you for any information I find of interest.” That made Henry stop. Adam almost ran right into him. “I can tell you do poorly, doctor. There’s a stain, an old one, on the cuff of your trousers. Your case has been restitched at the edges. And I do believe that was your stomach I heard just now. You must be hungry.”

Henry leaned in close, disgust on his face as he spat, “I will not profit from this horror.” He turned away once more and his body language warned Adam against following. “I don’t know what paper you work for,” he shouted over his shoulder, “but it will be a long while until I read it again.”

“I don’t work for any paper,” Adam told him, and that again gave Henry pause.

He turned and there was an inconveniencing distance between them. “Then who are you?” he asked.

Adam walked slowly to him, each step a purpose in his own prolonging of suspense. He pulled a business card from his jacket. “A doctor,” he said, “like you. My interest is purely educational, like yours.”

Henry took the card and studied it. The light of the streetlamp was low and nearly useless. But he must have made out enough of it because he nodded his head and looked again at Adam, that time with a little more respect. “What- what,” he shook his head and tried again. “Why is it you care?”

“You’re not the only man fascinated by death and its causes, Doctor Morgan. You’re just the first one the police went to.”

“What is it you want to know then?” Henry questioned.

“Oh,” he thought, ”anything that can’t be picked up on every street corner, anything you personally find of interest. I trust your judgment, doctor. And who knows? Perhaps a second opinion on certain clues could yield results.”

Henry nodded his head and looked around. “Well, we can’t very well talk out in the street,” he said.

“Dinner perhaps, my treat,” Adam insisted. “Surely that won’t be too big of a profit against your morals.”

“My landlady makes me dinner,” Henry told him.

“And I imagine it’s long since gone cold,” Adam said. “Midnight fast approaches, Doctor Morgan.”

Henry put up little fight. They looked until they found a place still open. It was mostly deserted and the owner threatened he would be closing within the hour. That was enough time. Adam ordered them both a bowl of stew.

“You know most in our profession still think so lowly of post-mortem examinations,” Henry said, “despite being men of science.”

“I believe there’s more the dead can tell us than what we see on the surface,” Adam reasoned. “It’s an important area of study. Through them, the living can discover ways to die.”

“You mean,” Henry slowly corrected him, “‘ways to not die’, surely.”

“Slip of the tongue,” Adam apologized, and his unwavering eye contact dismantled the good doctor’s nerves. Henry was the first to look away, studying his dinner in a fear. “I’d like to apologize for my bribe earlier,” Adam drawled, sipping at the broth of his own bowl. “You’re a man of higher integrity than I had thought.”

“You sound like that bothers you,” Henry joked.

“Yes,” Adam agreed, then, “but I can tolerate it for one evening.”

Henry cleared his throat, fidgeting and unsure of what to say in return. He decided to ignore the statement completely. “Perhaps,” he said, “if you could tell me what you already know, I can fill in the gaps with my own findings.”

“Speak,” Adam ordered. “I’ll stop you if I’ve heard it.”

Henry thought for a long moment, considering where to start. The beginning was too obvious and too widely known already. Eventually he settled on individual facts, those details known only to him and the police. “Others involved in the investigation believe the killer to be left-handed,” Henry said.

“But you don’t,” Adam assumed.

“Left-handed people are a minority,” he asserted, “and often targeted.” Bitterly he said, “Prejudices against those that are different breed hasty conclusions.”

Adam laughed. “You speak like a victim yourself, doctor. What’s so different about you?”

“Nothing,” Henry stated, a quickly rushed blur of denial. His own haste was suspicious, and made worse by his immediate return to the previous subject. “The running theory is he grabs his victims from behind,” he put his right hand around his jaw, “and slices their throats like so.” He dragged his closed left fist across his neck, brandishing an invisible and inefficient knife.

“And why do you think otherwise?” Adam asked, allowing the man his avoidance in matters of societal divergence. He did not care enough about Henry to learn his history or why he hid it. The worst possibility was that he had killed a man, and that could only have made him more interesting.

“The bruising,” Henry stated, “it’s around the neck, not the jawline. The killer would have cut his hand if he tried it that way. I believe he chokes them first, from the front, to... minimize struggle and sound. Then he severs the artery.”

“Tell me more about the bruising,” Adam said.

“Uh,” Henry exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, “it’s a bit... larger than average. Our killer is probably a man of great stature, not like you or I.”

“There’s a relief,” Adam laughed. “I’d really hate it if you suspected me.”

“You?” Henry found humor in the seeming nonsense of his statement. “Of course not. You’re a doctor. Eh, Doctor...”

“Brose,” Adam supplied, for clearly Henry had seen less on his business card than he pretended. “Alden Brose.”

“Doctor Brose,” he repeated with a grin. “Yes, we are doctors. Anything we do upon a body is either in the person’s best interest or post-mortem. Which, in my opinion, is still for their benefit.”

“Of course,” Adam agreed. What a naïve child Henry was, padded inside and out with innocent ideals towards the integrity of man. Adam no longer suspected him of murder.

“As of now the police are only recognizing certain killings as being committed by the same man.”

Adam had studied each murder, carpeting the floors and papering the walls of his home with various newspapers. He was intimate with every victim but allowed Henry to speak on, enamored in his own way to the man’s anatomical jargon. It was his obvious coping mechanism to pay the women respect while separating their experienced horrors down to clinical observations. Adam allowed him the cowardly dissociation.

Henry recounted each murder, whether their connection was clear or dubious. He spoke of letters sent to the police, hundreds, and the very few authentic possibilities. In it all there was an ever present sorrow. He mourned the victims, loyally the bleeding heart Adam had assumed he was.

“I feel sorry for the poor girls,” Henry lamented, “to risk their lives for the sake of pay, for food and rent.”

“It is a dangerous town,” Adam said. He had been murdered three times in the past decade, but then he did take negligent risks. 

Henry was still but for a small nod as he reflected, spoke, without really committing to thought. “‘Prepare for death,’” he quietly recited, “‘if here at night you roam, and sign your will before you sup from home.’”

Adam chuckled, amused by his dinner guest. “You are too young a man, Doctor Morgan, to be quoting Johnson.”

“Nonsense,” Henry laughed nervously. His finger tapped an erratic pattern upon the old wooden table. “Why, you can’t be much older than me yourself, if at all.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Henry nurtured a grin as though he were in on his own private joke. It matched Adam’s.

“Tell me about the most recent victim,” Adam implored, “the one you examined personally, Mary Kelly.”

Henry sighed, looking ill. “Truly the most gruesome,” he said. “Her neck was cut down all the way to the bone, and even that had notches in it. Her face was mutilated, limbs dismembered, body emptied of its organs. Nightmarish,” he put a calming hand to his chest, against his beating heart, “and that I do not lightly say.”

“He’s escalating,” Adam surmised.

“Yes,” Henry quietly agreed. “I fear for whatever girl should fall victim to him next.”

“In my opinion,” Adam said, “there will be no more.”

“How- however could you know that?” Henry stammered, confused.

“He perfected it,” Adam explained, “his modus operandi. He took his time with this girl. Unless there’s an unrecognizable mass of human flesh in your future, doctor, there is nothing more for that man to achieve or strive for. I applaud him for managing to eviscerate a girl in a crowded tenant building, but if he is a smart man, he’ll quit while he’s ahead and retire.”

“The evidence,” Henry said, wisely sidestepping the matter of Adam’s praise, “insists that he is an uneducated man. To call his work a butchering... would be an insult to butchers.”

“Well,” Adam sighed, “that is disappointing.”

“The cuts are jagged,” Henry went on, “more ripping through flesh than executing a precise incision. His removal of the organs is... rudimentary at best. Anyone with a knife and a hellish disposition would be able.”

“Then he’s not interesting at all,” Adam decided. A member of the working class hacking away at his victim was certainly compelling psychologically; however, Adam had come to Henry for clues in finding an intelligent sadist with a full knowledge of what he was doing.

The night was a loss.

“Five minutes and then you got to get out,” the owner told them.

The night was over.

Henry took out his watch and noted the time before putting it away again. “That’s unfortunate.” Optimistically he asked, “I don’t suppose you have anymore theories based on what I’ve told you?”

“Hmm, no,” Adam said. His interest was dwindling fast, a candle at its base and out of wax to devour. There was perhaps some lingering intrigue for the grotesque nature of the crime, but even that he would settle for reading about in the paper.

“We could,” Henry ventured, “discuss it further, tomorrow perhaps.”

“Or tonight,” Adam proposed. The killer was disappointing, but his doctor companion was a promising distraction. There was something about him. Young and naïve to be sure, but he was clever and less boring than the aristocracy of his education level. There was more though. He carried an aged impression, that feeling when an old soul inhabits a young man’s body. Henry was a patient man, treating the world like he had time for it all. Youthful eagerness was tiresome by comparison. “If you would care to join me back at mine.”

Henry inhaled deeply with thought and exhaled with dissent. “Normally I might take you up on your offer,” he graciously declined, “but I do have an early morning. Also the streets are far from safe at this hour.”

“I believe the threat holds highest against prostitutes, which I do not believe you are, Doctor Morgan. Though,” Adam chuckled, “it would be an interesting end to the evening.” Henry’s eyes widened, but Adam could not tell if it was from offense or because he had guessed correctly. For safety’s sake, he courteously said, “Oh, I would never judge a person for how they support themselves, for whatever methods they use to keep the lights on in a back alley clinic. I’m the least judgmental person you’ll ever meet.”

“I am not,” Henry lowered his voice self-consciously and leaned further across the table, “a prostitute.”

Adam shrugged. What an unfortunate loss. “Then what about for pleasure’s sake, if not profit’s?”

Henry sputtered nonsensically, at a complete absence of words to the forward proposal. Adam enjoyed making others uncomfortable, liked watching them scramble to make sense of how he could be so bold. “No,” Henry said, “no.” And then that gentleness in him insisted upon an apology. “Not that I judge either,” he swore. “I do not, would not condemn a man for his practices. It’s only that...” He was not sure what he meant. Confusion was clear, as was a shortage of resolve. What he lacked was courage against one of life’s erected barriers. 

“Tell me, Henry,” the familiarity of his given name caught the man’s attention and he breathed harder, “do you let morals control all aspects of your life or just the ones that you’re afraid of?” Adam stood. He picked Henry’s hat from the bench and gently placed it on his head. “Come along, Henry. They’re closing. Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Henry went with him as one in a trance, forgoing the conscious thought of walking for an internal dichotomy. Adam led him with a hand on the shoulder, to the door and through it.

“You have one minute, Henry. At the end of that minute I will begin walking right,” Adam gestured, “and you will be going left.” He took out his watch and followed the ticking second hand as it marched up towards the twelve. “Or... we could walk the same direction. I leave that up to you,” he pointed at Henry as a new minute began, “starting now.”

“Listen,” Henry pleaded, finally snapping to his senses under the weight of a time limit, “I am well and truly flattered. And experimentation of human nature is not something I shy from, believe me. But, and that is to say,” he rambled, “I’m not sure if I’m ready for this exact deviance just yet.”

“Forty-five seconds.” Adam did not care what Henry said in his minute. All that mattered was whether or not he followed when it was over.

“This is just so fast,” Henry continued. He made to run his hand through his hair and nearly knocked his hat off before remembering it was there. “It’s just that I- I’ve rarely ever thought of committing such an act. To make the decision now seems reckless. I’ve my whole life to reconsider.”

“You are not so young as you think,” Adam remarked, “and soon you will die— all too soon, in fact.”

Henry spoke through his entire minute, arguing with himself for Adam contributed nothing.

When the allotted time ran out, Adam snapped his watch shut, interrupting Henry mid-sentence. “Well doctor?”

“I...” There was only a second’s hesitation, but Henry seemed to change his mind a hundred times in its brief existence. “I can’t,” he finally decided. Perhaps he expected Adam to be heartbroken or disappointed because he quickly tried to console him. “But I do have your card,” he said. “And if I should ever change my mind...”

“Yes,” Adam said, a falsified smile on his face, “if you should change your mind.” He extended his gloved hand. “It was a pleasure, Doctor Morgan. I wish you luck in catching your killer.”

Henry grinned brightly and took his hand, giving it an amiable shake. He was relieved to see Adam taking rejection so well. “Thank you,” he said. “A pleasure meeting you as well.”

Adam smiled for him once more and turned to leave. The forced expression was gone as soon as he was free to discard it. No, he was not happy. The entire night was a waste without even a distraction to save it.

If Doctor Morgan ever tried to contact him, he did not know it. The card he gave and the business it represented were fake. Adam had the time and patience for moral men but not the temperament.

It was an unfortunate side effect of immortality that Adam forgot those of insignificant value. He met far too many people for any one man to be worthy of his remembrance without having properly earned it. Faces blurred together and looked the same. He had come across numerous individuals two or three times, though there were a few centuries between each meeting. No one was new anymore. All traits, be they physical or emotional, were regurgitated randomly but in a pattern. There were some beauties who stuck out, but many were forgotten immediately after having been encountered.

When he first saw Henry’s picture there was no sudden recognition in him. An old photograph was poor evidence against old memory.

Adam studied it often and kept it on his person whenever he felt no risk of dying and losing it. With his dagger still missing it became the new object of his obsession. The picture consumed him. 

He propped it against the lamp on his bedside table and stared at it every night, sometimes through the night. The man, his soul mate, had dark hair, neat hair. His eyes were likewise dark, yet kind. Adam could not understand the light still in them, that sincere smile. He must have been a fantastic actor to wear the lie of humanity so finely. Adam thought of the conversations they would have regarding their hundreds of years of history, aligning experiences until they became one shared perspective.

And always there was something that nagged at Adam when he looked at his photograph. Sometimes he was able to ignore the feeling, other times it frustrated him, gnawed at him. He loved the man as much as he was able and that reawakened fervor messed with his mind. 

For thirty years he traced dead ends, grasping at straws until they snapped. Then technology caught up to his desires. Facial recognition software advanced constantly, and it helped that the man was sloppy at covering his tracks. 

Adam knew him, Henry Morgan.

He tore that brief impression from his long overloaded brain, ripped apart each hazy strand of clouded memory until he dragged the tarnished thing back into the forefront of his mind. Still using the same name, after 124 years. Yes, it was him, Adam’s London doctor. The memories left intact were mostly vague and nothing could retrieve them entirely. Much of what he did remember he used in expressing his thanks for Henry’s loss of mustache.

It took two years before Adam approached him. He learned Henry first, followed him in the streets. Not gradually did he become a second shadow, completely unnoticed. Then he waited for evidence and erasure of death before he made his move. It never hurt to be certain.

Adam could not understand the man’s lack of enthusiasm in knowing he existed as well. It puzzled him endlessly. Henry did want to meet face to face though. That was promising. And eventually, when he could deny himself no longer, Adam complied to the man’s wishes.

It was a risk showing his face to Henry, even under the guise of Lewis Farber. There was, however, no need for his concern. Henry displayed no recognition. For that Adam could not fault him. It had, after all, been nearly 130 years. And even if he did recall his face, Henry must have known better than to voice the similarity aloud. The man he met that night must have died almost a century ago. Before him was nothing but time’s comparable copy.

Adam looked forward to his realization.

**Author's Note:**

> I really don’t have a reason for making Henry a little down on his luck other than I wanted to. It’s not fun to imagine immortals are always flush. Also the officer in the past said he was between calling Henry and the butcher and the butcher was busy. Which (given their lack of effort in finding someone) says to me that Henry was the most conveniently located doctor. Probably a doctor in Whitechapel. And I don’t doubt he’d live there to help the residents who couldn’t afford proper care. Just my headcanon for the sake of this fic.
> 
> Is it weird that I want an AU of my own fic where Henry does go with Adam? And after, they have such intelligent conversations that he just moves in and Adam supports him financially while he continues to run his clinic. And the whole time they’re trying to keep their immortality a secret from each other. Ha. But that would be a reeeeally alternate universe that would have to ignore all future canon. Still I am down for sugar daddy Adam. I mean, come on. He’s always giving Henry gifts in the series. It’s basically canon.
> 
> I am not a Ripperologist. I hold a passing fancy, like anyone else. So this is obviously not extremely accurate. And I combined it with some of what Henry said in 1x6 for continuity reasons. Which would make it even less accurate. Whatever though. Not the point of the story.


End file.
